


Home Plate

by gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)



Series: Batter Up (Baseball) [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Baseball, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Military Uniforms, R&R, Rimming, Sexual Innuendo with Sports Equipment, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:37:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5302490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyneth/pseuds/gwyneth%20rhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a bashful smile, Steve said, “I thought maybe a little taste of home might make you feel better.”</p><p>It was such a perfectly Steve thing to do: he didn’t see Bucky as damaged goods, just as a guy who loved to play baseball. Who was still whole, still his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Plate

**Author's Note:**

> For kassrachel, with love.

Bucky was awakened by the sound of metal jangling against metal and whispered, strained voices. His heart was a cannonade of artillery inside his chest. This was--where was he? Bucky blinked, unable to see out of one eye. Okay. If he couldn’t see, then he was on that table still. The past few months had been an eerie mirage, reality hidden under a pleasing shimmer of the hoped-for.

Only... Metal bars. A cell, sure, except--Steve was standing on the other side with an American MP. Steve sighed, his new giant ridiculous shoulders drooping, then rubbed his forehead, trying to hide his Very Disapproving Face. There were captain’s bars on his winter dress uniform, he wore an officer’s hat. So maybe not Bucky’s imagination after all.

It was a cell in a London police station, not a factory in Austria. Morita was asleep on the wooden bench next to him, and _he’d_ never been strapped to a table getting chemicals shot into his veins. “Sorry, Ma,” Bucky said, jerking his chin toward the MP. “Didn’t mean for you to have to come pick me up from school. Ready for my paddling now.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets--nothing would confirm it truly was Steve more than that--Steve jerked his own overly rugged chin toward Morita and said, “Wake Jim up and let’s get you two out of here.”

Bucky reached up to touch his closed eye. He must have an amazing shiner there, because Steve kept staring at it. The flesh around it felt pulpy and tender; his lip had been split, too, coppery with dried blood, but it seemed to be knitting up all right. Jostling Morita’s shoulder only earned Bucky an earful of obscenities and he chuckled, until he glanced at Steve’s sour, worried face. Christ, but Bucky had missed that sour face and he couldn’t imagine how he’d stood it so long; it hit him so hard he was scoured and raw.

They obediently shuffled out behind Steve like recalcitrant schoolchildren. Steve signed some captainy sort of paperwork and grabbed the sack with Bucky’s and Jim’s stuff, then shook hands with the MPs and the English personnel. Bucky would have sworn he heard Steve promise they wouldn’t do it again; he rolled his eyes behind Steve’s back.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” Steve asked as they stepped out into the dark street and he switched on a flashlight. The air raids were less frequent these days, thank god, because wouldn’t that have been fun, Steve explaining to his folks that Bucky’d been killed while cooling his heels in a London jail for punching a cop.

“My smokes in there?” Bucky asked, and Steve handed him the pouch wordlessly and he dug his effects out of it. Bucky handed a cigarette to Jim, then lit both up. Steve’s continuing disapproval wafted around them, thicker than the misty air, as they walked back to the hotel. “I’m thinking that if you’re bailing us out of the clink, you know damn well what happened.”

“And I’m thinking maybe you should tell me why you were in there.”

Bucky worked at a piece of tobacco with his front teeth, then sighed. “MPs were fussing at us when we came out of the pub, saying I was out of uniform and a disgrace. Where was my tie, where was my hat, blah blah. I told ’em to blow it out their asses, and things got a little ugly. One of ’em started in on Jim about being Japanese. It kind of escalated from there.” He gave Jim a weak smile, and Jim moved his head back and forth on his neck, working out a crick.

“You’ve been in the army long enough to know that the MPs are always on the lookout for anyone they can nail for any transgression, especially outside the pubs. Old Blood-and-Guts makes them hang around, looking for guys they can fine just for not shaving. Jesus Christ.”

“Well, I ain’t in Patton’s army, now, am I?” Bucky snarled.

Steve gave him a long-suffering look. God, but Bucky hated that. He’d rather have the sad, baleful, someone-shot-my-puppy face Steve had mostly been looking at Bucky with since he’d found him in that Hydra base. They were both still just kids but right now anyone would have thought they were about fifty as they stared wearily at each other in the darkness.

“No, you’re not,” Steve said in measured tones, and Bucky couldn’t help noticing once again that he was very careful to not say _ain’t_ or anything else that might give away his Brooklyn breeding, “but you are the top non-com of an elite and very high-profile unit. I can’t have you getting into brawls. We are really lucky that one of the MPs working out of that station was a decent fellow who was a little star-struck by you and Jim, or you’d both be heading toward a court-martial.”

Bucky wanted to roll his eyes again, but it had really hurt the last time. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been sixty days since I was last spit and polish.” He tried a smile, but it didn’t earn a smile in return. “You smooth everything over with your Captain America act? Sign a few comics?”

They got to the front door of the hotel and Steve stared down at his hands. Aw, fuck, Bucky hadn’t meant to wound Steve that way. He was always doing that lately. It was tough, cranking back on the terrible things that erupted in his mind with no warning.

At times it felt like looking into a broken mirror, all these splinters and shards staring back at him, fragments of a face that he knew belonged to him but that were unrecognizable. This piece here should be an eye, that piece there a sliver of chin, but he couldn’t put them together to create a Bucky he knew. Or that Steve could recognize and love.

“You gonna be all right?” Steve asked Jim as they pushed him gently up the stairs toward the room he shared with Gabe.

“Yeah,” Morita muttered, and fell inside as Gabe threw his arm over his eyes and yelled at him to turn off the light.

In their room, Bucky went to the basin and splashed some water on his face, touching his eye. It only barely felt bruised, where less than an hour ago it had been puffed up like a plum and now he could actually see out of it. The suspicion he’d had for a while that something was wrong with him sat eely and cold inside his guts.

Steve was watching him, blank-faced, but Bucky recognized the tension behind his gaze. “I’m okay, Steve,” he said. “I just--I had too much to drink, and I wasn’t thinkin’, that’s all. It was my fault, and they had no cause to pick on Jim.”

“No, they didn’t.” It hung there in the air: _but you’ve been out of control now for months_.

“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry. That I got you in trouble, that I got Jim in trouble, that I embarrassed you.” As soon as he said that, Steve shook his head and opened his mouth to argue, but Bucky cut him off. “How did you know we were there, anyway?”

“That MP sent a runner over and woke me up. One of them wanted to haul both your asses into official custody, but our fan figured I might want to take care of it personally, quietly--because he didn’t think a war hero like you should end up in striped pajamas breaking rocks at Shepton Mallet.” Though he hesitated at first, Steve stepped toward Bucky and touched his eye. “This is enough of this shit, don’t you think. Why won’t you let me help you? Tell me what’s eating you?”

Bucky wanted Steve to kiss his eye, kiss his mouth. He wanted to ask Steve what the hell he was waiting for, but the words stuck in his throat. They’d had one quick kiss after the factory and then nothing. It was all so different now, so horribly, acutely different: Steve was strong and healthy, he was in love with Peggy Carter, he was an officer. Everyone could now see the fella Bucky had fallen in love with a universe away and a thousand years ago. They shouldn’t even have been in the same room with each other like this; how could they pick up the unraveled threads from their friendship?

He ran a hand through his hair. His skin was too tight all of a sudden, his throat closed up. “It’s hard, when we’re not out in the field now. I can do whatever I want out there, act however I want. Wear my own clothes. The regular uniform, it’s--it’s too-- It’s strangling me, the tie and the hat and the belt and...it’s just too much. The expectations to be what I was before.”

A little hitching noise escaped Steve’s throat. “Oh god, Buck. Of course. Of _course_ it is.” He ran his thumb along Bucky’s jaw. “I’m so sorry.” Bucky never knew what Steve was apologizing for all the time, like it was his responsibility that Bucky’d been captured and tortured, that his mind was messed up.

Bucky tilted his head up--he was not getting used to that anytime soon--and ran his hand along Steve’s neck, cupping the side of his head, thumb tracing around the contour of his ear. “You gotta stop saying that. It ain’t your fault.”

“But it is my fault if I don’t show you the support you need when you’re battle fatigued.” There was such a soft, melancholy, regretful air in his beautiful blue eyes that it pierced Bucky’s chest. All the things they’d once been to each other in the past, coiled around the layers of what they were now like a snake, squeezing the life out.

Bucky took hold of Steve’s lapels and shook gently. “Look at you. You give me shit for being nonregulation and here you can’t even get this shit on your chest right. You never put these on where they’re supposed to be” --he pulled on the jump wings and the captain’s bars-- “and half this shit is all cattywampus. It’s a good thing you got that stupid costume, because if you had to wear your service uniform more often you’d probably get a dressing down from Phillips.”

Pressing his forehead to Bucky’s, Steve said with such sweetness Bucky thought he’d melt, “You ever think maybe I do it that way for a reason?” He wrapped his hand around Bucky’s, held it to his chest and Bucky could feel his heart beat slow and steady.

Of course he did. “You are such a piece of work, Rogers,” Bucky said, grinning, and sighed. They rocked back and forth for a while, holding each other. “You know, I thought you were an angel.”

“What?” Steve said, face scrunched up in pleased confusion.

“I thought I was dying, or dead. And you were suddenly there in front of me, only different, you know--bigger, stronger. I thought it was an angel who took on a form I knew so he could take me away. There was something on your back, it was your shield but I thought at the time it was wings, maybe.” Bucky pressed harder to Steve. “I mean. You _were_ an angel, weren’t you?”

Steve leaned to Bucky’s mouth, pressed his lips--god, that familiar warmth, the piquant sharp _taste_ of him and it flooded Bucky’s mind, his body with longing--for a kiss, hauling Bucky against him, his new strong ridiculous arms cocooning Bucky within them. “Don't you ever--don’t you _ever_ \--” but Steve didn’t finish, because he kissed Bucky again and they scrabbled at each other, desperately graceless.

Steve was like a fucking tree, his arms were small boulders, his jaw a cliff. He had to lean down to kiss Bucky, yet somehow it felt like he was kissing his Steve, and Bucky sank into it with relief: he still knew this, and Steve still wanted him. He’d thought--he’d been _afraid_ that he didn’t want Steve anymore because of the changes in his appearance, that he wasn’t attracted to Steve anymore, but it had been the changes inside Bucky that had made him think that way. And he wanted Steve now, every ounce as much as he always had.

“Hey, hi there,” Steve said with a tender smile, pulling away from the kiss, pushing his fingers through Bucky’s hair--exactly the way he used to, only now it was from a different angle. “God, I missed you.”

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Bucky said, and nipped at Steve’s lower lip. “I thought...”

“I know. You think that something’s going on with me and Peggy.”

“Among other things.” Steve kissed his neck, ran his tongue along the cusp of his ear, which had always driven Bucky wild with desire. “You saying there ain’t?”

“It’s...I don’t know if I know what it is yet,” Steve said. “What I want and what’s possible aren’t necessarily compatible. She’s got enough to deal with.” That was just vague enough to be irritating.

“I don’t want to get in the way,” Bucky said, and pulled away from Steve’s arms, but Steve wasn’t having that and tugged him down on the bed, practically in his lap. His face was flushed, eyes ablaze with that brilliant color that had once belonged only to Bucky, only when Steve looked at him.

“Christ, Buck, I jumped out of a plane into flak for you. Why the hell would you ever think you were in the way?” Steve had always had a way of looking past the facts of a situation to see only what he wanted the outcome to be.

For most of his life, Bucky hadn’t truly understood what he was. He loved to go out with gals, loved dancing, but he’d never felt the intense, burning desire for girls he felt for Steve. He’d learned very quickly what he really was in the army: when he’d been alone in a tent on maneuvers with someone just like him, through furtive encounters on a troop ship, on dark nights sneaking out behind a CP in Italy.

Steve was not queer, and he had that great gal to prove it. Bucky was not going to let Steve drag himself down that way.

As if he knew what Bucky was thinking, Steve said, “And if you think that what we were doing with each other back home was just some mixed-up idea of fun and that I don’t really love you, then I’m gonna sock you, and now I can actually do some damage. So.”

“Listen. I ain’t jealous. She’s aces. I just don’t want you to--”

“I really hope the next words outta your mouth aren’t ‘sacrifice’ or ‘feel sorry for,’ because if anyone was sacrificing themselves, it was you with me.”

Even now, in this new body, Steve still couldn’t believe that Bucky was so gone over him he might as well be in another galaxy. There were so many ways, so many people Bucky could compromise Steve with that it terrified him. This wasn’t something Steve should be doing with his life.

“I’m not jealous, Steve, I’m thrilled for you. All’s I ever wanted was for everyone to see you the way--the way I did, to love you. I knew that someday, some nice gal was gonna look past your health problems and that _terrible_ personality and see the real you.” Steve snorted. “And that gal is Peggy. It’s _wonderful_ for you.”

“Just because you fall for one person doesn’t mean you’re not also in love with another. I got room in my heart for both of you, it’s a lot bigger now, in case you didn’t notice, and not so faulty. I’m strong enough for all of it.”

Bucky grinned in spite of himself. “Modesty becomes you.” He ran his thumb along Steve’s lips. “I just don’t want you to mistake what we did for who you are inside.”

“I’m not listening to any more of this.” Steve squeezed his arm so hard it hurt.

Bucky shook his head. When had he ever been able to convince Steve to think about anything he did. He was tired now, everything had caught up to him, and flashed a glance at the nightstand. The clock read--shit. “Steve, you gotta be at the morning briefing in, what, two hours? You need to sleep.”

Steve nuzzled into his neck. “Might as well just keep going. Rather stay with you.”

He cupped Steve’s jaw and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I’m--I’m still kind of--everything’s still messed up in my noggin. Waiting’s okay.” Steve needed time to cool off, to think about this a little more. To really understand what choices he might be making.

Nodding, Steve said, “Okay. Yeah, I understand.” He probably didn’t, but that was Steve--what mattered to him was what someone else needed.

They didn’t undress all the way, just took off their shirts and boots--Steve sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the bruises on Bucky’s torso, but he kept quiet. They tossed their too-short mattresses on the floor next to each other and climbed under the covers. Steve reached across, holding his hand in the air until Bucky took it, and then he said, “Day after tomorrow’s Saturday. I got a surprise lined up for you.”

He scoffed, glad Steve couldn’t see him in the dark, too touched and grateful that Steve was thinking of him at all.

“If it ain’t some of them dancing girls you knew from the USO, then I don’t want it.”

 

* * *

 

It was frighteningly clear that Steve was someone who’d learned to drive fairly recently: they were speeding helter-skelter through the streets of London, frequently on the wrong side of the road, and Bucky was thankful once again that Steve mostly stuck to his Harley. In fact Bucky’d asked him, when Steve told him about attempting to commandeer a jeep to go find him in Austria, how he’d expected to do that without having learned to drive and Steve had replied sheepishly, “Well, I took a lesson with Elaine in...Buffalo, I guess it was, but I probably would have just been stalling and clutching until I hit the border. I figured I might get the hang of it by the Alps.”

Bucky had a death grip on the door, squinching his eyes closed as Steve took a turn way too fast and shouted “hoo boy!” more excitedly than apologetically in his ear; Bucky would have sworn the jeep almost tilted onto two wheels. Honestly, it shouldn’t have surprised him that Steve would approach driving like this, and yet somehow, he was always surprised by Steve.

“You know this is exactly the kind of thing that gives Yanks such a bad rep over here.” It never worked to appeal to Steve’s sense of self-preservation, since he didn’t have one, but he hoped appealing to his better angels might get them where they were going in one piece.

“Yeah, but we’re late.”

“Oh, how tacky if we’re late.”

“The boys’ll never forgive us.” He grinned at Bucky and Jesus, it was as if the clouds broke and a choir was singing. He may have missed the little Steve, the one he’d fallen so hard for, but times like this Bucky realized he was still here, always would be, even if the outside package was different.

They pulled up to the grounds at some place called Duppas Hill in Croydon, then cut through the fields to find the Howling Commandos and a few fellas he recognized from the SSR company standing around a pile of...baseball gear. Bucky arched his eyebrow and made a face at Steve. “You kidding me?”

With a bashful smile, Steve said, “I thought maybe a little taste of home might make you feel better.”

It was such a perfectly Steve thing to do: he didn’t see Bucky as damaged goods, just as a guy who loved to play baseball. Who was still whole, still his best friend.

“Wasn’t hard to rustle up the gear,” Dugan said. “Though I swear to god Phillips must be the only asshole with spangles on his chest who isn’t fielding a unit team to make him look good.”

“How’d you find this place?” Bucky said, looking out at the huge green field, the beautiful old plane trees. It was rectangular but would be easy enough to create a diamond inside.

“Monty suggested it, when I told him I wanted to organize a game,” Steve answered, pulling his jacket off to expose his much too tight SSR undershirt. It was hard to breathe all of a sudden.

“It’s a cricket ground,” Monty said. He hefted one of the baseballs in his hand, ran his finger along the seam. He didn’t seem impressed. “This is just a bowdlerized version of cricket, isn’t it?”

“Hey, don’t besmirch our national pastime with your hoity-toity lawn party games,” Gabe responded. Monty smirked.

Bucky turned to Steve. “Thank you,” Bucky mouthed, and grinned. Steve’s smile said _you’re welcome_ ; he squeezed Bucky’s shoulder and said, “Hell, I never got to play much back then. I’m pretty excited about being able to play a whole game with you.”

“So. We gotta school the Frenchie and the Limey here so they don’t embarrass us in front of our pals,” Morita said, slapping Dernier on the back. Jacques was quite interested in the bats--he swung them around, testing the heft of each one individually, a dangerous glint in his eyes, and Bucky had a brief moment of alarm that he might do something unhinged with them right here.

Bucky went to help Gabe walk out the baselines and create their makeshift bases--mostly stuffed, torn rucksacks, it turned out, though somehow they’d scored an actual home plate. There was nothing for a pitcher’s mound, but they scratched out an area; no backstop either, but Bucky felt right at home--it was just like playing in the streets outside their apartment, only with a lot of nice grass.

Steve and Jim were showing the international contingent the basics when they came back. Bucky was pretty certain that Monty was deliberately pretending he didn’t get it, comparing everything to cricket, and Dernier appeared to lose almost all his English, getting Morita a little hot under the collar and Bucky tried--and failed--not to laugh at them. Gabe tossed Jacques some light underhand pitches to show him how to hit, but Dernier would merely watch them waft by, scowling. “Stupid game,” he muttered, watching out of the corner of his eye to see who might be taking the bait; Bucky’d pegged him early on as the sort of guy who liked to wind people up and then laugh his ass off once they got upset.

“Can’t stand the heat, get out of the proverbial kitchen,” Morita said dryly. “You and Monty feel free to sit it out. We got this covered.” He gestured expansively at the other SSR guys, whose eyes were definitely being opened to what a bunch of petty, competitive idiots they all were. And if there was one thing the Howlies knew about each other, it was that none of them were capable of walking away from anything they saw as a taunt or a provocation.

“Throw me another of these balls,” Dernier challenged, eyes narrowed, and Gabe pitched him a real, very solid fastball. He swung, connecting hard, and the ball sailed out into the trees to the left. He grinned triumphantly as Monty slapped his back, but his smile faded as soon as Gabe said, “Nice hit, but that’s what we call a foul ball. It went outside the diamond.” That set off a heated round of bickering until they convinced Dernier it was a legitimate rule, not one Gabe had invented solely to get back at him. Monty shook his head, called it a game for tossers, and picked up a mitt, looking at it as if he’d picked up a rotting fish.

“You can’t catch the ball without protection for your delicate little hands? Is that what these are for?”

“Aw, this from the fella who wears a fuckin’ ascot under his uniform,” Bucky said.

“Fuck you, Barnes,” Monty said cheerily, sounding more and more like a Yank every day.

“You’re not my usual type, but if you insist--as long as you’re tender and slow.”

Monty smirked at him and whacked him with the mitt.

When Bucky glanced at Steve he was staring at Bucky with such a glow of fondness it made his pulse pound, the memory of playing ball together illuminating his smile. He’d almost forgotten it until now: coming home with Steve after a game and pulling each other’s uniforms off, necking until they were dizzy with lust and fucking till they were completely demolished by pleasure. Some little sliver of home still existed inside him, the Hydra scientists hadn’t ripped it all out of him the way he’d feared. Steve would always bring a little home with him.

Bucky walked behind Steve and traced his fingertips across Steve’s palm as Steve shivered and sucked in a rough breath. “You’re something, you know that?” he said over Steve’s shoulder, and Steve turned halfway to look at him, eyes lit up.

They stuck Monty and Jacques in the least-important positions, close to someone who could show them the ropes. Jim, Gabe, and Dum Dum took the best of the SSR guys for their team, figuring Monty and Jacques’s inexperience would equal Steve’s enhanced abilities. Morita’s team won the coin toss; Bucky took up his favored position at first and sent Steve out to right field.

It turned out that Corporal Beardsley, one of the original top recruits for the serum tests, had been a minor league pitcher with a future when he’d enlisted in ’42. He had an amazing arm with a blistering fastball, striking out the first two batters--Gabe and a private Bucky’d never met before--but Morita connected with a sweet curveball and sent it way out into right field. Steve grinned, turned on his heel, and then it was almost too fast for the eye to see: he snagged the ball at a gallop, threw for Bucky at first without breaking stride, and even though he was yards and yards away, the ball sped toward Bucky and hit his palm with the force of a bullet. He dropped it before he could tag Jim on the bag, hopping around, shaking his hand and sputtering “sonofabitch ow ow ow ow ow asshole fuckin’ supersoldier.”

“Aw, geez, I’m sorry!” Steve said, jogging in from right field. “I hurt you?”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ mook, what do you think?” He shook his hand, and Steve took it in his giant paws, rubbing gently. He shook his head at Steve and pulled back, then slipped the glove back on his throbbing hand. “Pull it back a little, why don’t ya?” If anyone had showed up for this game feeling a little star-struck at getting to play ball with the Howling Commandos and Captain America, they must be blisteringly disappointed by now.

“Batter up?” Beardsley asked hesitantly, and Dugan nodded, stepping to the plate and swinging the bat around, waiting for Steve to get back to the outfield. From the safety of his position, Steve pretended to rub his eyes like a crying baby. Bucky raised his middle finger toward him and narrowed his eyes.

“Hey, batta batta batta swing,” their shortstop and third baseman were calling out, taunting Dugan as Beardsley wound up.

“What is these noises?” Dernier demanded loudly after a few seconds.

Bucky shrugged. “It’s just...something you do, to kind of mess with the guy at bat, distract him.” He’d never thought about it before, probably did sound kind of stupid.

Dernier scowled and said acidly, “C’est du n’importe quoi, ce sport. Ils lancent, ils crient. Quelle bande d’abrutis.”

Gabe laughed and slapped his thigh, and at Bucky’s confusion said, “He says, ‘This sport is rubbish. They throw, they shout. What a bunch of morons.’”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

Dugan hit the second pitch way up high toward center, a sure-fire triple at least, but Bucky watched in horror as Steve leapt into the air like he’d been fired out of a fucking cannon, so impossibly high he could scarcely believe it. There was Steve’s ability to jump and then there was _this_. “And you’re out!” Steve sang triumphantly, trotting smugly toward the infield and tossing the ball in the air. Dugan shouted, “That is entirely fuckin’ unfair! No one human could have caught a ball that high!”

“Why do you think we got the two weak links on our side? Because we got Mr. Science Experiment too,” Bucky said, shrugging, even though he wasn’t sure he could really defend Steve here or whose side he should show alliance to.

“Weak link!” Monty said with fake umbrage. “I’ll have you know that I excel at a number of different types of sport.”

“Not the point!” Dugan bellowed, sullenly grabbing a glove and stomping out to take up a position at third. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky caught some money changing hands among the guys who weren’t playing.

“So, as a team-building exercise, how you like it so far?” Bucky asked Steve as they sat down on one of the decrepit old benches. “Everyone seems to be having a jolly time.”

Steve grinned at him. “Ah, they’ll simmer down soon.” Bucky noticed some of the other guys were afraid to come over and sit with them, as if they didn’t think they were allowed to sit too close to Captain America. Gave them some privacy, at least.

“Not sure about that. But I’m looking forward to batting,” Bucky said. “Been a long time.” A lifetime had passed since he’d hopped on that train to Camp McCoy and the beginning of his new life as a soldier. The factory had aged him about a thousand years.

“I know,” Steve said, tender and sympathetic. “But I bet you’re every bit as amazing as you always were.” There was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes; Bucky remembered that all too well. Steve picked up a bat and tossed it in the air, catching it on the downward spiral. He wrapped his hand around the base, sliding it slowly up and down, looking over at Bucky with that infuriating smirk. “Nothin’ like the feel of a solid piece of wood in your hand.”

Bucky choked and coughed. After a second he realized his mouth was hanging open. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he wheezed.

“What?” Steve asked, all innocence and mildness, then turned his attention to the game. Bucky shook his head. All these miles and all these years, and here they were again.

The other pitcher was nearly as good as Beardsley. Bucky wondered why neither of them was actually pitching for one of the military teams--that’d be a cushy, easy way to serve if there ever was one. Instead of living in cold and heat and mud and misery trailing around after the Commandos, they could have been off playing ball, helping some general win bragging rights with his team. If Bucky’d been offered the chance to play fucking baseball for his service, he’d have taken it in a heartbeat.

They’d set their batting order to let Boudreau, Whittaker, and Jackson lead off, keep Dernier and Falsworth spread out between stronger hitters. Jackson had hit a nice double, so he was on base waiting when Bucky came up to bat. It was satisfying to feel the weight of the bat in his hand again, to test out his swing. But the pitcher surprised him with two strikes on some twisty curveballs, till Bucky connected with the third pitch, watching it sail out past Gabe in center field. He made it to first, grinning at Steve, who was whistling and applauding.

Dernier, naturally, struck out, but then Steve was up. He connected with a nothing pitch, barely swinging at all. Bucky watched mournfully as the ball sailed out to the tree line far beyond right field. And sailed, and sailed. Everyone froze, staring at the ball as it disappeared from sight. “Run!” Steve shouted at Bucky, oblivious to the incendiary glares coming from Dugan and Morita. Bucky slowly ran backwards, watching as Gabe ran along the ball’s trajectory, then just gave up because no one could see where it had gone.

“I hate you!” Gabe yelled, and Steve, the little shit, shrugged as he rounded home, then put his hand to the side of his face with a look that said, “What, little old me?” Only...no one was smiling this time, just watching like they were humoring him. Steve might have been oblivious to the tension coming from the guys, but dealing with them was Bucky’s job--these guys wouldn’t typically have been playing ball with an officer in the first place, but throwing Steve’s enhanced physiology into the mix escalated it from bad idea to serious problem.

Bucky picked up the bat Steve’d dropped and pulled Steve a few feet away from the rest of them. He put on his best easy-going smile. “Look, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that you organized this. That you wanted to find a way to help me...hang on to something from home. But I think it’d be better if you sat the rest of the game out.”

Steve’s face crumpled. “What?” He looked like he’d just been struck. “We’re having fun, I thought. Flipping each other shit like we always do.”

“It ain’t fun when you can do stuff no one else can do. That’s not fair to them. And you’re their CO, so.”

“Oh, Bucky, come on. I’ll pull back, I promise. I didn’t even know I could hit like that.” Steve was looking at him from under his eyelashes, because he knew Bucky was helpless against that.

“Even so, it’s still lopsided. You almost broke some bones in my goddamn hand with a light toss of the ball, you can jump higher than anyone else and catch things that by all rights should be a triple, and that hit was...” Bucky sighed.

His voice got flinty. “So I’ll bat left, one-handed.”

Bucky’s shoulders sagged. “Don’t be sore, Steve. It’s strange enough for them, playing with an officer, with Captain America, but a supersoldier is kind of on a whole other level.”

With a bitter laugh, Steve said, “You’re telling me that I can’t play _again_ , just like when I was small. You’re telling me that even though I’m healthy now, I’m still being judged on my physical abilities.” At least he sounded more resigned than angry. “Well, don’t this beat all.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just looking out for the fellas. That’s my job, you know that. You went to all this trouble and I don’t want to see the rest of ’em walk away because they’re afraid to play with you on the field. The Commandos can talk back to you, but the rest of them can’t. Maybe one of these days they’ll figure out that serum and then make a whole team of supersoldiers you can play with. But for now, it’s gonna undermine your authority if you stay. I know you can understand that. You should stand down.”

Steve stared at him for a long, long time. Making sure no one else could see, Bucky circled his fingers around the end of the bat just like Steve had done before, running them up and down the handle. “I’ll make it worth your while when we get back.” He arched his eyebrow and bit his lip.

Although Steve bravely fought a smile, Bucky could tell that was doing the trick. Steve shook his head and threw his hands in the air. “I can’t believe this. I’m finally healthy and I still can’t fuckin’ play ball.”

“I will _truly_ make it up to you,” Bucky said, and licked his lower lip. He slid his palm over the knob of the bat, caressing it. Steve watched his hands, breathing deep.

“Okay. You’re right, you always are. I know that, it’s just...it always seems to be something. I’m too small, I’m too big, too weak, too strong. But I’m being a jerk.” Eventually Steve looked into his eyes again. He licked his lips; Christ, Bucky was still such a chump for that pillowy lower lip and he wanted to lean over right here and take it between his teeth and suck. “But I'm gonna hold you to that offer.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Bucky jerked his chin in the direction of their audience. “Why don’t you go find someone to take your place? It’ll look more magnanimous coming from you.”

To Bucky’s relief, the rest of the game went off without a hitch and was surprisingly fun. Steve only rubbed it in a little bit that Bucky’s team had lost without Captain America on its side. He had the good sense to buy all the rounds at the pub afterward, and it wasn’t long before everyone adored him all over again. When they were in the field, Steve’s tendency to identify more with the enlisted men wasn’t a liability, but here he had to stow it away, and it chafed at him, Bucky knew. He was fiercely proud of Steve for that reason, even though it wasn’t his place to feel that way. Steve was his own man, and as tough as it was, Bucky had to let go of him now.

While they were in the pub, Steve reminded Bucky repeatedly of his offer. He’d look at Bucky with brilliant eyes from under those sinful lashes, or wink at him as he ran two fingers slowly up and down the side of his glass, sucking the moisture off the ends of his fingertips, leaving Bucky squirming in his seat. They waited till most of the fellas were well on their way to falling-down drunk before leaving for the hotel. At their floor, Steve jerked his thumb toward the end of the hall. “I’m just gonna...” he said, abruptly bashful after all that brazen flirting, and Bucky said, “Yeah, me too.” Steve was waiting for him after his turn in the bathroom, as if he couldn’t bear to be away from Bucky even for the couple minutes it took him to freshen up, and they practically sprinted down the hall.

They’d barely made it in the door of their room when Steve grabbed Bucky’s hands and twined their fingers together, hauling him against the wall and pinning his arms up by his head. Steve pressed against the length of his trembling body and mouthed at Bucky’s neck, breath hot and damp on his skin. Steve’s hands circled his wrists, slid down his arms, nails scratching Bucky’s flesh and making him shiver as he pushed the sleeves of his sweater up. Christ, Steve was a radiator, Bucky was melting under his touch--no, he was boiling--no, he was bursting into flames.

Steve’s mouth found his, kissing, biting, pressing his lips apart and darting his tongue inside. He pulled away, lips shiny, skin flushed bright pink to below the collar of his undershirt, eyes hazy with lust. “Is this--do you--” he tried to say, squeezing Bucky’s wrists and it took a second to understand Steve’s meaning, he was so fogged with desire.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. You can do--you can do anything you want.” Steve ground his dick against Bucky’s; hell, they were both already rock-hard and he was sure he must be sweating against Steve’s heat. He was briefly distracted at wondering how many times they’d been in this position before, only it had been Bucky pinning Steve to the wall, the heat of their bodies so intense he thought they’d fuse together.

With a little shove he pushed Steve away from him, held him at arm’s length. “Take those off.” Steve was so used to being in command now that for a second he sparked at that, jerked his head a little as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and then a slow grin spread over his face.

“Are you telling me what to do, Sergeant?”

“Take ’em off, Captain,” Bucky repeated, and Steve pinked up even more. He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, eyes never leaving Bucky’s, staring at him with that quiet, intent way he had. These days Steve reserved that look for tactical briefings and operations, not for Bucky, not for a long, long time. The shirt got tossed on the floor as Steve bent to unlace his boots and yank them off, then he unbuttoned his pants, sliding them down his hips just enough to give Bucky a glimpse of skin, but nothing more. Bucky dragged his eyes up to meet Steve’s again, and Steve slowly, deliberately slid his SSR undershirt up over his head.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Steve naked since the transformation, in fact they’d seen each other plenty this way, but the sight of him now, flushed with arousal, his dogtags sparkling in the soft golden light and accentuating the curves of his chest muscles, made Bucky’s heart quicken and his breath stutter.

“You’re taking too long,” Bucky said, low and rough. His heart was pounding like a Howitzer.

“I’m just doing what I was told, pal,” Steve said, frowning, and then Steve’s hands were in Bucky’s hair and he was kissing him ferociously. Bucky shoved Steve’s pants down, then his undershorts, and Steve stepped out of them as they kissed. “I loved watching you today, in spite of being a little sore about everything,” Steve said in between kisses, those hands scorching his skin as they shoved up under Bucky’s sweater. “Just like when you used to play back home.”

“Same here,” Bucky squeaked out as Steve tweaked one of his nipples and bit below his ear. He tilted his head back, wordlessly begging for more and Steve obliged him with tender bites all along his throat, sucking hard on his racing pulse, then up along the cusp of his ear. With a noise of impatience, Steve yanked the sweater off, then began unbuttoning Bucky’s shirt, making little huffs of annoyance with each flick of a button. Of course Steve could easily tear it off him with no effort, but he was going to make Bucky beg for it, and Bucky would do that, he would do anything Steve wanted him to. He turned Bucky around and Bucky leaned his head back against Steve’s shoulder, the blood whooshing in his ears, letting Steve deliver kisses to his throat and shoulder as he pulled the shirt off.

“Buck. God, Buck, I can’t--” and the soft, desperate throb of his voice completely undid Bucky. He dropped to his knees in front of Steve, framed his hips with his hands, and dragged his lips along the underside of Steve’s hard cock.

“Promised you another chance at bat,” Bucky said.

“Oh, is that what you meant,” Steve said with a hitching, ragged sigh. Bucky pushed Steve into the wall; Steve grabbed at his shoulders to steady himself.

“God, Steve, look at you.” He ran his palm over the head of Steve’s dusky cock, just like he had with the bat, and Steve trembled with his entire body. “You’re a goddamn work of art. Not that I didn’t love every fuckin’ inch of you before, you know I did, but you look like one of them statues at the museum.” He licked at Steve’s cock, sucked it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around, the wordless, urgent moans from Steve’s throat going straight to his own cock.

“Ah, god,” Steve whispered, he was still so quiet and it made Bucky’s heart flutter. His Stevie, so different and yet somehow miraculously the same fella Bucky had always been so cockeyed over. It had been so long, for both of them, a lifetime ago, and he wanted all of it now; Bucky was so terribly greedy and he wanted all of Steve.

Steve had one hand in his hair, one on his face and Bucky reached up blindly, toying with his nipple until Steve suddenly sucked in a huge breath. “I’m gonna...” he warned, almost ashamed, and pulled away.

Bucky stood, kissing the hollow at the base of his throat, rubbing his hand up and down Steve’s shaft. He hooked a finger under the chain of Steve’s dogtags, pulling them off, brushing the cool metal across Steve’s nipple. Steve gasped, his nipple peaking as Bucky pulled the tags off, then said, gritty and low, “The bed?” Bucky nodded and stepped out of his pants and shorts at last. “God, you’re the one who’s gorgeous,” Steve said, running his hands up and down Bucky’s belly, trailing his finger through the wetness at the tip of Bucky’s cock and then sucking it into his own mouth. _Jesus fuck._

Everything had changed and nothing had, Steve was still that strange mix of implacable and commanding, shy and halting, and Bucky loved it, loved him with a passion he didn’t know how to control. “I meant what I said about making it up to you. Tell me what you want. What you need.” If Steve didn’t tell him what to do that very moment, Bucky couldn’t answer for the consequences, goddammit.

“Do you--do you remember that time after you had your first furlough?” Steve said, breathless and rough.

“ _God_ yeah,” Bucky growled, and he turned Steve onto his stomach, pulled his hips back so Steve was kneeling on the bed. Steve buried his face in the bend of his elbow, trying to hide his blush, but his whole torso had turned scarlet and it made Bucky grin. Jesus jumped-up Christ, Steve’s ass was even more glorious than before, a ripe round peach and Bucky squeezed it, pressing his fingers deep into the flesh, relishing Steve’s contented moans.

Kneading Steve’s perfect behind, Bucky pushed the cheeks apart, dipping his head forward and licking along the skin just behind his balls. With a shuddering breath Steve bunched the sheets up in his fists, and Bucky teased around the hole before plunging his tongue inside. Underneath his hands Steve shook and bucked, whispering Bucky’s name over and over like a prayer. There was a pearly sheen of sweat on his lower back that Bucky couldn’t help reaching up to swipe his finger through, still working at Steve’s ass with his mouth, then he reached in front of Steve’s hips to take his cock in hand. He bit gently, licked, fucked him with his tongue, fingers sliding around the tip of Steve’s cock, and then with a nearly soundless whimper, Steve came, hips rocketing forward.

Bucky waited till Steve’s breathing was normal again. With his face still shoved into his arm Steve said, “Please, Buck. Please. You said you’d make it up to me.” At first Bucky didn’t know what he meant, but then--“Oh yeah. Yeah, I will.”

Jesus, did they even have anything here? He fumbled around in his footlocker until he found the jar of Vaseline he’d forgotten he had. He slicked himself up, pushed inside Steve--who’d finally stopped hiding his face and was watching Bucky over his shoulder. There was a base, almost primitive pleasure in having Steve beneath him this way again, at how he panted and rolled his hips in silent encouragement. Bucky’s dogtags clinking with his thrusts were the only other sound in the room besides their sharp, shallow breaths. He leaned forward, letting them dangle against Steve’s back, and sank his teeth ever so gently into the side of Steve’s neck. When Steve groaned and said his name again that was all it took--Bucky’s body was so racked with pleasure it was nearly unrecognizable to him, it had been so long he’d forgotten he was capable of feeling this way. He climaxed in huge, rolling waves, thrusting until the sweet spasms stopped, and he heard Steve gasping.

“Did you--Steve, did you shoot off again?” Bucky asked with a weak laugh and kissed his back.

“Oh god,” Steve whined, covering his face with his hands as he rolled out from under Bucky. “It’s the serum.”

Bucky draped himself over the top of him, caressing his face, kissing the hollow of his throat, chuckling. “I like it. I like you.” He traced his fingertips over Steve’s chest, listening to the steady, heavy beat of his heart, nothing like it had sounded before. “I make it up to you okay? Not exactly hitting a homer, but it seems like it should do.”

“Adequate performance.” Bucky whacked him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry about today. It was supposed to be about you, not about me, and I ended up acting like a complete jackass. God, what must they think of me?”

“I think they think you’re just a kid, like the rest of us, and you wanted to have some fun in a time where that’s in pretty short supply.” Bucky sighed and ran his fingertips across Steve’s cheek, tracing the planes of his new, strong face. “Listen. I know you got it rough--you’re an officer without any formal training, and you’re out in the field with us, eating, sleeping, shitting in the same places as us. You haven’t even got a lieutenant in between you and us. That ain’t how it usually goes, so of course the lines are getting all blurry. And you got this,” Bucky ran his hand down Steve’s chest, rested it on his belly, “and you think that you can finally do all the things your old body denied you for so long. Who wouldn’t react like that?”

With a short, sharp laugh, Steve said, “How’d you get to be so fuckin’ wise, Barnes?”

“Well, I enlisted and got sent overseas, left my sweetheart, and I got shot at and tortured and experimented on.”

“Oh yeah. I almost forgot.”

Bucky bit the side of his throat and Steve giggled. He was delighted that even with this new form, Steve was still ticklish as hell.

“Am I still your sweetheart?”

Bucky threw his head back and made a noise of frustration. “Of course, you big ox, what the hell do you think?” Steve might have had room in his heart for more than one lover, but it was only Steve for Bucky, always only Steve.

Steve was fucking beaming at him. Bucky closed his eyes, and for the first time in years, he thought maybe he could sleep a real night’s sleep through the night, sheltered with Steve. He opened his eyes when Steve said quietly, “The both of us are changed now, you know, on the outside and in. I know sometimes you miss the old me, you regret how we’ve changed. And we can’t really go back to what we were before. But we got each other, we can keep looking out for each other.”

He smiled at Steve and pulled him close. As long as they were together, it did feel a little bit like home.

**Author's Note:**

> Over time we've developed this mistaken historical belief that the ball players who served in WWII all enlisted in some kind of big patriotic show, but the interesting thing is that most of them didn't enlist, and most of them never saw combat or other field duty--they played baseball for their time in service, as a morale booster for the soldiers and as a way for higher ups to compete with each other for who had the best team. Imagine what they could have done with a supersoldier on the team, assuming they let him play.
> 
> Thank you to bond_girl for the French!
> 
> Feedback and [reblogs on Tumblr](http://teatotally.tumblr.com/post/134140336750/new-fic-home-plate) would be adored.


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